


What Might Have Been

by carmenta



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenta/pseuds/carmenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every decision sparks new futures, and some of them are more significant than others, as Jenseny well knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Might Have Been

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trobadora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/gifts).



“I did a Divining yesterday, like you showed me,” Jenseny said one morning, carefully cinching the girth of her horse’s saddle tighter before mounting. She’d learned that particular lesson the first time she’d saddled a horse by herself and found herself on the ground mere moments after attempting to swing up onto the animal’s back, Damien’s expression torn between laughter and concern and Gerald’s all sardonic amusement as they’d looked on.

It wasn’t a mistake she’d have repeated, even if Gerald hadn’t made a point of watching her tighten the girth properly from then on. Sometimes she wondered just how long he intended to keep this up for.

(When she’d asked Damien, he’d muttered something about stiff-necked determination and that she’d better get used to it. Jenseny had taken it as a sign that it wasn’t going to be dealt with within a few days.)

“And your results?” Gerald asked, already on his own horse and just waiting for her to take up the reins. The currents were calm around him today, all quiet blues and greys and not the glaring reds which had dominated over the last few days while the Iezu research had once again turned frustrating rather than interesting. Jenseny had quickly figured out that she’d best keep her head down during those times and wait for Damien to defuse the situation, drop a sarcastic comment and present Gerald with another target for his irritation. Those two occasionally had odd ways of coping with difficulties, but Gerald tended to be calmer again once the glowering and bickering was over.

The morning sun was hidden behind clouds today, but enough of the solar fae still came through that she needed a moment to adjust to the glaring cacophony. She understood now what it was that threatened to overwhelm her senses, but the knowledge did not stop her ears or eyes from aching at the riot of colour and sound.

“Focus,” Gerald said behind her, his voice cool and steady. “Remember what we practised. Imagine the armour we had you put on. Think of its weight on your shoulders and the feel of metal. Picture how it shields you against all harm, physical or otherwise. Picture how the metal reflects the solar fae and keeps it away from you.”

She concentrated on his voice while she worked to build up the image. Visualising, Gerald called the new approach to keeping her sensitivity towards the solar fae under control, though Damien had just grinned and remarked that he shouldn’t go and invent new labels for Workings he came up with. But whatever its name, the technique worked, and right now that was all Jenseny cared about as the noise around her faded to manageable levels. She remembered when going out into the sunlight had been close to impossible due to the deafening, blinding chaos of the fae which had rendered each step as difficult as if she were fighting forward against a blizzard. Now the solar fae was a wind against her skin, still biting at times but not so strong that she could not stand against it.

It was almost too simple to handle it all; a few firmly imagined pictures were all it took to key the Working and keep the fae at bay. But it wasn’t something she could ever have figured out by herself, when she’d never been able to make someone understand what she heard, felt and saw in the sunlight. Even Damien didn’t know what it was like, though he did his best to listen to her attempts at explaining. But it was as though he lacked a sense to truly comprehend, as though she were trying to describe music to a deaf man.

Only two people in her life had understood. Hesseth had been the first, kind, gentle, fierce Hesseth, and Jenseny still felt the pain of loss inside her whenever she thought of the rakh woman, dead for more than two years already. Hesseth’s gift had been the reassurance that there were others who shared Jenseny’s perceptions and that she was not so very strange after all, that those like her were rare, but that they existed and that she was not alone in her difference, even if the only ones who shared her senses to the full extent were the rakh.

The second had been Gerald, though Jenseny had only come to understand that later on the journey back to the West, when he’d used her as a distraction for the greater concerns plaguing him. Or so Damien had said, though he’d put it into less flattering words.

The other horse overtook hers, its rider never content not to have the lead, and Jenseny didn’t put up at least a token protest like Damien would have done. She merely matched her horse’s pace to Gerald’s and followed, content for now to be out of his physical sight even if the currents still carried whispers of her every motion towards him.

She still presented a distraction for Gerald nowadays, though his attitude towards her had softened somewhat ever since he was no longer dead. Or undead, or vitally challenged, though even Damien only used the latter if he was particularly determined to get a rise out of him. Jenseny sometimes wondered at that, but compared to some of the turns her life had taken, the indecipherable nuances of the relationship between those two were not something she spent a lot of time dwelling upon.

“Are you maintaining your hold on the images?” Gerald asked her after a few minutes. Never ‘is it working?’ - he was confident that it did - but ‘have you managed to do it?’ instead. The implication that success or failure were her own responsibility had made her mortally nervous at first, until she had noticed that he was unexpectedly forgiving if she made mistakes, as long as she did not make them more than once. Make them twice, and she got a taste of biting sarcasm, and later that day Damien and Gerald would end up arguing about appropriate teaching methods, with Damien demanding patience and Gerald insisting that patience and the permission of too many mistakes were what kept the gene pool clear of sorcerers with inadequate concentration abilities. After Jenseny had accidentally caused a three-day-long thunderstorm which had her cowering under her blanket with her hands over her ears and eyes in a futile attempt to ward off the pounding power of the solar fae, she was inclined to agree with Gerald on the matter.

Not that she’d ever say it out loud. That it was not wise to flatter his ego by too much agreement was another thing she’d learned over the past months. Gerald was easier to deal with if he was cautious in case he encountered opposition, which Jenseny suspected was the reason why Damien tended to argue with him over even minor points. That and the fact that those two seemed to find it highly entertaining, in an acerbic, sharp-worded way.

“I’m holding it together,” she said once she was certain that her mental shield was not going to crumble. Another minute, then Gerald seemed satisfied that she’d manage; a quick nod and he guided his horse down on the little-used path they tended to take for what had become an almost habitual morning ride. Officially it was in order to see to her riding skills, unofficially it was his way of giving her the private opportunity to voice questions and thoughts outside the strict boundaries of her lessons with him.

It was an oddly regular life they led at the moment, Gerald occupied with his research while Jenseny adjusted to the normalcy of interacting with other people. Only Damien sometimes seemed not to be sure of his place yet, the currents around him in barely noticeable disharmony.

As soon as she caught up with him, Gerald gave her a scrutinising once-over, but did not correct her posture in the saddle this time. Progress, since he never held back if she did something wrong where the horses were concerned.

“About the Divining I did,” she said and saw him concentrate on her with sight and Sight. “I’ve practised focusing on single persons to narrow it all down, and it’s easy to do that.” She paused, then added,”Almost,” and was rewarded with an ironic little smile on his face at the qualifier.

She was late to start her sorcery training, she knew, and if Damien and Gerald had not taken her with them when they had left Mercia and sailed back into the West, she’d never have been taught. So any success mattered to her, and she knew that they, too, were interested in her progress. Damien because it made him happy to see her grow, and Gerald because he regarded her as an interesting developing project. Sometimes she wondered whether he kept notes about her in his journals, like he did about his horses and his Iezu research.

“I tried to do it differently this time,” she continued and saw the currents sharpen in tune with his attention as he motioned for her to go on. “You said that Divinings are alternate futures and that they show me which paths are open and where they lead.”

He nodded, stern teacher agreeing with his student’s repetition of a lesson. “With one upcoming decision as the independent variable, and additional decisions as cascading branches.”

Jenseny opened her mouth to go on, but was interrupted by her horse shying to the side. She reined the mare in, aware of Gerald’s watchful observation. “I looked backwards instead,” she said.

The currents around him flared. “Backwards?”

“In the past,” she clarified, her hand absently coming up to touch the scar at her throat. “I wanted to know what would have happened if Damien had not saved me.”

Gerald looked a lot more startled than he should have at hearing that she’d been thinking about that.

“I was just wondering,” she added.

“Just wondering,” he repeated. “And you achieved results? Just by _wondering_?”

She nodded reluctantly, not certain where the sudden change in his demeanour towards anticipative tension had come from. “I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong,” she murmured.

“You didn’t,” he said, and there definitely was sarcasm in his voice now. “Only something which should have been impossible according to all theories.”

“Sorry,” she murmured. Her horse seemed to pick up on her mood and tossed its head until she patted its strong neck to calm it again.

She heard him laugh, the sharp, small sound he made when something was not quite amusing. “Do apologise for deliberately bending the laws of nature. You _will_ describe how you did this.”

 _I don’t know_ didn’t seem like an acceptable answer, even though it would have been the truth, so Jenseny went fishing. “I just... turned backwards,” she tried. “I envisioned the here and now, and you said that for a Divining I need to focus on a person and see which potential futures come up, and then take the most likely-looking one and go from there and keep it up.”

He hummed in wordless disapproval. “Inelegantly put, but it will do,” he allowed. “You claim you went backwards after the initial preparations?”

She’d seen him with his experiments, how he’d draw up pages and pages of research designs and controlled comparisons and theories. He certainly didn’t like coincidences, or what he called unscientific muddling. Jenseny suspected it was the reason why Damien kept insisting that Healing was not an accurate, measurable art but instead relied on intuition, and why Gerald was doing his best to prove him wrong whenever they had one of their practise sessions together.

“I just turned it around,” she murmured, uncertain how to reply, and for a minute focused on guiding her horse down the short, steep stretch which took them to the river bed, her weight carefully balanced backwards, reins loose, feet firmly in the stirrups even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to do that. She liked the small river; the fae flowed with clear direction here along with the water, soothing blues interrupted by flashes were fish hid under the surface.

Gerald permitted her the time to adjust from sunlight to the tree-shadowed path winding along the river before he demanded to know “And you saw...?”

She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable under his gaze. When Gerald had his full attention on her with senses and fae, it was not a pleasant experience. “Futures,” she tried to dismiss it, uncertain why she had brought this up at all.

“Jenseny. What did you see?”

Darkness in his soul at the question, black veins cutting through his humanity like the lead in the stained glass windows of the churches they’d shown her. So much of it still there, though it was a pale shadow of what he had looked like when she’d first met him. He did not want her to look, she knew, and she probably should tell him one of these days that she knew what the Hunter had been, what he’d done. It only took one glance at him through the fae to find it all in plain sight, after all, so where was the point of all this secrecy? He knew what he’d done. Damien knew. His descendant had known, that strange man they’d met at the Hunter’s Keep and who’d wanted to kill Gerald until Jenseny had begged him not to, scared out of her mind at the thought of losing one of the last two people in her life.

No, he could not be concerned about whether she knew that the Hunter had tormented and murdered thousands. But perhaps he was concerned that she’d look inside and see the darkness still there, something he was so careful not to let Damien notice.

“I’d have died,” she whispered, still unsettled at those images. It wasn’t new knowledge - her death had been part and parcel of her plan to stop the Undying Prince. But at the time, it had seemed like the only path available to her, unavoidable in its terror. Now she knew that it hadn’t come to pass, the narrow escape - and it had been a matter of moments, though Damien had never said it out loud - was far more terrifying than it had been then.

Gerald looked at her and nodded. “You’d have died,” he agreed, voice calm and grey eyes unreadable.

They rode on for a few minutes, though Jenseny didn’t really see the river this time even though it was one of her favourite sights, a calm and cooling balm on her senses even when she didn’t step into the chilly waters and only observed.

“If Damien hadn’t come for me first,” she continued, not sure whether she should be saying this but needing to share the images still disturbing her mind. “If he’d gotten you off that roof instead of letting you burn. If he hadn’t taken the time to Heal me.” She paused as something occurred to her. “He could have rescued you instead.”

The expression on Gerald’s face turned into the mien of biting amusement Jenseny hated to see because she never knew how to counter it. “That you rank higher in Vryce’s priorities is hardly a surprise you’d need to Divine. And besides, it was not the first time I ended up in such a predicament due to his actions. Perhaps it’s what gave him the confidence that I could wait; I am sure some harm is perfectly acceptable as long as it is not immediately lethal.”

Which wasn’t true, and they both knew it. Jenseny had not been aware of much during the first days on the ship journey back north, too occupied herself with healing and recovering, but she knew that Damien had done his best for both of them, simply because he’d never do any less than that. She’d seen the cuts on his arms where he’d bled, and she’d heard the arguments with the captain about keeping the ship close enough to shore that the currents were still within reach despite the dangers involved.

“If he’d come for you first, you’d not have burned,” she said before she could reconsider whether this was something she should mention. The images still weighed on her and she needed to speak about them, but she didn’t think Damien was the right choice. And aside from him, there wasn’t anyone else. “You’d not have burned,” she went on, “but you’d have died.”

Gerald’s lips twitched in a humourless smile. “Need I remind you that I did?”

“Permanently,” she amended, “not just on Shaitan. Damien got you back then, but he couldn’t have done that if Andrys had lopped your head off.”

Gerald blinked at the blunt statement, but he didn’t look as surprised as she’d have expected.

Something occurred to her. “You did a Divining back then, didn’t you?” she asked, all curious student again. “You knew what might happen. Did you see those futures too? Was it the same when they hadn’t come true yet, or was it different?”

A year ago she wouldn’t have dared to ask such questions for fear of his reaction and his intolerance where she was concerned. But the long journey across the ocean had taught her differently: he’d allow questions as long as they were good ones, challenging and interesting. Bore him, and he’d let you know it with acid sarcasm so you didn’t try again too soon.

“I knew what might happen,” he agreed with her. “But at the time, deliberate Divinings were not an option. The Undying Prince would have detected them, and that would have spelled the end for all plans.” He looked thoughtful as he guided his horse into the waters where the river bed was shallow enough to be forded without danger, a brighter threshold against the blue waters. “We should include that in your training, how to keep other adepts from knowing that you are Working. It may become useful one day.”

“But if Divining wasn’t possible...” she trailed off, still thinking hard about it in an attempt to figure out where this was going before he’d tell her. Her horse didn’t want to step into the water at first, but one firm nudge of her heels against its sides convinced the animal to move.

“Deliberate Divining,” Gerald corrected sternly. “The currents will always carry images if you know how to look. Whether you are able to guide them in a specific direction to follow one path of decisions, that is the question.”

“So you only saw what the fae showed you?” she asked. “What did you see?”

He met her eyes in a level stare. “Your death. My life.” He, too, paused as though he were debating whether to continue. “It appeared mutually exclusive.”

“You would have let me die?” she asked when she’d deciphered his meaning.

In a way, she appreciated that he did not attempt to hide the answer from her. “I would have,” he confirmed. “At the time, it seemed the most promising choice based on what I saw in the currents. You’d have died, but you’d have taken the Undying Prince with you, and that was the ultimate purpose of it all.”

It was why she’d done it, but it still sent a shiver down her spine to hear him say it with such nonchalance. He’d considered her expendable then, just like Hesseth. Perhaps like Damien, too.

“You would have come back here,” Jenseny murmured, thinking of the images she’d seen. “And you’d have been taken to Hell and Damien would have brought you back, and you’d have climbed Shaitan to stop Calesta, and all that would have been the same. But Andrys would have killed you. That’s where it would have changed.”

He held her gaze and reined in his horse, halting in the middle of the river. “In that case, shall we consider ourselves fortunate that it was Vryce who made the decision, since it was best for both of us?”

Jenseny stopped too, watching, waiting. Met his eyes and nodded, flashes of past futures dancing at the edge of her sight. "I think we should."


End file.
